


Tummy Trouble

by PrairieDawn



Series: The Importance of Choosing the Right Pediatrician [2]
Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Baby Spock, Colic, F/M, Lutherans, Maybe a little bit of a Lake Wobegon joke in there, Medical Care
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-16
Updated: 2017-11-16
Packaged: 2019-02-03 08:53:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12745062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrairieDawn/pseuds/PrairieDawn
Summary: Sarek and Amanda take baby Spock to a new medical practice when he develops symptoms of colic.  It's not exactly exciting, but it's cute, and I needed to introduce one of the two new doctor characters.





	Tummy Trouble

The honeymoon ended when Spock was 48 days old. It started insidiously, over three days. An irritable night and day, with not enough sleep for any of them, then the next night she could swear Spock slept not at all, though he probably did, fitfully, for a few minutes at a time curled against her chest in the rocking chair. The third night was the same. Thirty minutes of screaming, then an exhausted collapse, then 45 minutes more, always with his knees curled to his chest and his tiny hands twisted into her nightdress.

On what felt like her thousandth pass across the floor of their home, Sarek fell into step beside her. They had agreed to switch at his middle of the night feeding. “Here, let me take him,” Sarek said. She passed the ball of wailing infant to him. “I’ll make the bottle while you walk him some more.”

“How much of his last bottle did he take?”

“About a quarter of it. He just won’t settle down long enough to eat.”

“He is not getting enough nourishment. If you agree I would determine whether I can provide him some relief. Perhaps then he will take a bottle.”

“Of course.” Amanda kept her tone carefully neutral. Sarek had a tendency to treat his son like he was made of glass, and had made an effort to shield around him at all times for fear of breaking him. She wondered if it was something the old Healer had said before they had both unceremoniously kicked him to the curb a week ago.

Sarek did no more than cup the back of Spock’s head in his large palm, covering the fontanelle while the baby repeatedly bumped his face against his father’s chest. She waited. He whispered something in Vulcan to the child, too low for her to hear, and he molded bonelessly to his father’s chest. “So tired, little one. Rest now,” he repeated in English.

He walked toward their couch in that smooth, almost swaying way all parents learn when trying to move with a just barely sleeping baby and eased himself down. She sat beside him.

“He is suffering considerable abdominal pain. I will determine whether he can be roused to take a bottle in twenty minutes.”

“Poor baby. Something like this is common in human infants,” she told him. “We call it colic. We should still probably take him to be examined, just in case it’s serious. Have you had any luck finding a suitable healer for him?”

“Of course it is serious. Spock is miserable. What do human parents do to solve the problem?”

“We just have to wait it out. It’s pretty much awful for everyone...the baby, the parents, the neighbors…”  
Sarek nodded understanding. “I have located someone willing to see him. She works in the alien quarter with a human partner. They see children of several species. She comes highly regarded by some, less so by others.”

Amanda perched on the edge of the couch next to Sarek. “Less so by whom?”

“Persons who disapprove of a Vulcan healer working with a human physician.”

Amanda let out a weary chuckle. “Sounds like my kind of doctor. I’ll send a message for them to see in the morning.”

“Then, please Amanda, go to sleep. I can look after him for a while.”

She didn’t get up off the couch. “I know, but,”

“Last night I offered to allow you sleep and you stayed up with us all night long. You cannot continue in this manner.”

“You’ll wake me if anything changes? In a bad way, I mean.”

“Of course I will. The physician’s name is T’Zir.”

Amanda left him with Spock and retired to the bedroom, taking a moment to look up the address of T’Zir’s practice and compose a short message for her. She was asleep almost before she hit send.

 

A ping from the messaging system awoke her at first light. She scrubbed her face and sat. Sarek was not on his side of the bed and a quick glance into the low, bowl shaped bed on short stilts she called a cradle showed Spock was absent as well. She could hear puttering in the kitchen.

She opened the message.

 

Greetings Amanda Grayson,

An opening is available for Dr. Schoenbein to examine your child, Spock, at the seventh hour. You report symptoms similar to colic in human infants, but report the child is also not eating well. If new symptoms arise prior to seventh hour, report them here. The doctor requests stool samples from the child and both parents at the earliest opportunity. A diaper may be used collect the child’s sample. Collection trays have been left at your home as a courtesy for you and your spouse.

Stool samples. Delightful. She slipped on a light coverup and opened the door to their home, where she found a small package waiting for her. “Sarek,” she said, quietly, but directly, knowing he could hear her anywhere in the house and not wanting to wake the baby if he were by some miracle asleep, “the doctor wants stool samples.”

“Indeed. I shall endeavor to oblige.” He entered the room, still wearing Spock on his shoulder like a stole. “I have found that pressure applied to his abdomen by the superior aspect of my shoulder appears to provide some relief.” She twisted her face into a smirk and handed him one of the contraptions, a sort of bowl with a frame and handle. He traded her the baby, who spread his hands sleepily, then jammed one in his mouth.

It took him all of five minutes to start whimpering again. She tucked him into one arm and made up a bottle one handed, then dropped into a chair to feed him. He swept the nipple out of his mouth with his arm. She pinned the arm gently to his side and tried again. He turned his head away and began to cry in earnest again.

Sarek appeared. He discreetly tucked the covered bowl into a fabric bag, washed his hands, and scooped the baby out of her arms. “I will hold him while you prepare a sample.”

“Sarek, I can’t do that on command. I’m going to have to wait until I need to go.”

Sarek blinked once, which appeared to be Vulcan for “You learn something new every day,” and continued attempting to feed Spock, who continued to have none of it.

“The appointment is at the seventh hour. Can you come in with me? I want you to meet the physician as well.”

“I trust your judgement in this matter.”

“You might not later if you get criticism from your coworkers or family about our choice.” She paused. “I know you.”

“Very well.”

Amanda left to dress. That, she thought, was Sarek’s Achilles heel. He worried far too much what other people thought of him. It seemed, despite its illogic in her opinion, to be a common Vulcan trait, and a probable cause of their retention of certain traditions that seemed to be outliving their usefulness.

She did manage to produce a sample after breakfast. The bag with their refuse sat in an alcove by the door where neither of them had to look at or think about it too hard until it was time to go. 

The aircar Sarek summoned pulled up. Amanda fit Spock’s seat into the latching mechanism in the vehicle and sat in back with him, while Sarek joined the embassy’s driver in front. The aroma from the bag was barely perceptible to her, but the driver questioned Sarek. “Does the child require clean garments?”

Vulcans were as cagey about elimination as they were about sex. Well, almost as cagey. Sarek replied, “The situation will be remedied when we arrive at our destination.” The driver did not mention it again, but she was certain she detected a slowing and shallowing of his breaths. 

They arrived at the clinic, which was indeed in the middle of the alien quarter inside a large sheltered courtyard that used a combination of recirculating water, moving air, and a minimum of artificial cooling to produce an environment that was bearable to visitors without being excessively chilly for the native inhabitants, though Sarek did glance toward Amanda to ensure she had Spock well wrapped.

She carried the baby inside, leaving Sarek to carry the unmentionable containers. As was the tradition on Vulcan, the bureaucracy prided itself on hospitable efficiency to the point of invisibility. The bag was whisked away as soon as they entered the door, another young Vulcan woman greeted them by name and led them to a small, comfortable alcove with a ceramic pitcher and cups sitting on a table. As soon as they were no longer moving, Spock began to fuss. Amanda stood to pace the small room with him.

“Dr. Schoenbein will be available shortly,” the woman said.

Sarek started slightly. “I thought we would be seeing T’Zir.”

“T’Zir is occupied with other patients today. She would like to see Spock for a development check in twenty days. Dr. Schoenbein is highly qualified in the care of infants and children of several species and has time available today.”

Amanda had to admit to herself it was amusing to see her husband chastized for bigotry by another Vulcan. “Thank you,” she told the other woman. Dr. Schoenbein will be acceptable.”

Lewis Schoenbein turned out to be fortyish, blonde, and large in a Wagner opera kind of way, and it was clear he knew it. He curled a little in on himself as he walked into the alcove, datapad in hand, as though to make himself look a little less like a frost giant.

“I’m Dr. Schoenbein. May I confirm that you are Sarek and Amanda, and this is young Spock?” Per local custom, he did not offer to shake hands.

“We are,” Amanda said over the sound of Spock’s crying, which had gradually been ramping up since they arrived.  
Scheonbein addressed himself to Amanda. “I am informed that Spock has been suffering some worsening digestive issues over the past four days. Abdominal discomfort, refusing to eat, sleeplessness. Are these symptoms correct?” He spoke with the precision of a Vulcan, presumably with the practice of long exposure.

“They are,” Amanda confirmed over her shoulder, continuing to pace the room with the fussing baby. As long as she kept moving he kept the decibel level down, at least.

“Are either of you able to describe the location and severity of the discomfort?”

Sarek nodded. “It is located primarily below the navel and is at times severe enough...I was compelled to intervene to allow him to sleep.”

Schoenbein paused to take a seat and address Sarek directly. “Did someone tell you you shouldn’t?”

“No,” Sarek said. “Not precisely. Spock is showing signs of abnormal brain development. I did not wish to damage him further.”

“You won’t break him. Babies are tougher than they look.” Schoenbein shook his head. “I read your son’s records. He is...the best way to put it is that he is a much younger baby than Sikahr was accounting for. If he were Vulcan, he would not be born for another six weeks. Is he projecting yet?”

“No,” Sarek said, dejectedly for him.

“Nothing to worry about, as I said before. Just helpful to know when I examine him. Could I hold him for a moment?”

Amanda handed him over. Schoenbein laid him on the exam table. He scrunched himself into a ball of angry baby and let out a wail. “I know it’s not comfortable, Spock, but I need to look at your tummy.” He tried gently moving Spock’s legs, but they were curled up tight. “Sarek, could you help me out a little? I’m going to put him on your lap. You help him settle and I’ll have a look.”

Sarek took Spock and laid him on his lap, feet facing the doctor, one hand resting on the baby’s forehead and the other one tucked under his bottom to keep him from sliding to the floor. Spock looked up at his father’s face and blew a large spit bubble. Schoenbein squatted on the floor in front of the two, carefully avoiding Sarek’s knees, to palpate the baby’s tiny abdomen. Once, Spock’s face screwed up as though he might cry, but smoothed back out in a moment. “That was unpleasant,” Sarek noted at the same moment.

“No doubt.” Schoenbein straightened. A soft tone sounded on his datapad. “That will be your test results. A moment while I take a look.” He scrolled across the datapad for a minute or two. “Just what I suspected. Amanda, you are the source of 85% of Spock’s intestinal microflora. Sarek, you provide about 10%. Given that Amanda’s gut bacteria are partially Vulcan, having changed over time as she has eaten local food, breathed local air, and shared living space with you, I am seeing about a 60/40 balance of bacteria in Spock, leaning toward Earth species. I think, given his genes and diet, we should shoot for 70/30 in favor of native species.”

“How is that accomplished?” Sarek asked.

“First, we’ll put him on a supplement to mix in his formula. Second, you need to share more bacteria with Spock. Allow him to spend 30 minutes a day, at least, skin to skin on your chest. He’ll end up getting your bacteria all over his face, and it will be good for his neurological development as well. In addition, when you make him a bottle, take a pull off the nipple before you feed it to him to load it with some of your oral bacteria.”

The face Sarek pulled would have been worth photographing to send to her mother. “I should share saliva with my infant?”

He nodded at Sarek, then turned to Amanda. “Make sure he does it.”

“Will do,” Amanda agreed. 

“You should begin to see improvement in less than a week. Until then, comfort positioning, small meals, and a little extra help from Father when things become unmanageable. Now, do you have any questions for me today?”

“Do I have to avoid being around him?” Amanda asked.

“Not at all. If we find these measures don’t give us the mix we are looking for, we will give small doses of a targeted antibiotic that will reduce the population of Terran species. That will give the Vulcan ones room to grow.”

“Thank you, Doctor,” Sarek said.

Schoenbein nodded curtly, smiling only slightly, and left them.

 

Amanda turned to her husband. “I like him.”

Sarek considered. “He seems to understand and respect our culture and biology to the extent a human can. He is also...not overtly emotional.”  
The young woman returned for them. “I have sent instructions to your address. T’Zir would like both of you to be present when she examines Spock next. Select an appropriate day and time from the grid.”

Since Amanda was on leave for another few months, she allowed Sarek to select the day and hand the data pad back. He spoke briefly to the young woman. “Dr. Schoenbein seems in some ways more Vulcan than human in his behavior. Was he raised here?”

“No. He belongs to a cultural group who tend to be less emotionally demonstrative than most humans. I do not know whether it is primarily ethnic or philosophical, but they value equanimity and steadfastness of character.”

“What group is that?” Amanda asked.

“He refers to himself as a Minnesota Lutheran, but I have detected a slight self deprecating humor when he uses the term, so I am not certain it is accurate. You may wish to ask T’Zir when you see her. They have been partners for several years.”

“Why did he come here?”

The woman’s look grew slightly more severe. “Perhaps you should ask him.”

**Author's Note:**

> Sapient life forms are just convenient carriers for microorganisms to use to colonize new habitats. Space is no exception. Comments are more than welcome. Microbiology questions are also welcomed because why not?


End file.
